


If The Sun Stood Still

by aspiringwordsmith



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, GOOOOOD SHIT, Getting Together, Love Letters, Pining, Prom, sorta? there's a poem that happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringwordsmith/pseuds/aspiringwordsmith
Summary: My girl Brooke is crushin’ mad hard on one Christine Canigula and decides to do something about it. Like asking her to the prom. (A prequel of sorts to myboyf riends promposal fic, but can be read as a stand-alone.)





	If The Sun Stood Still

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing the girls based on some hcs I have for them in [this post](https://bloodclawspause.tumblr.com/post/164499591648/playride-hcs), so feel free to check that out if you want some Context™. Also, I wanted to make their spring show something I was familiar with, & I was weirdly obsessed with Inherit the Wind when I was younger, so I just…ran with that. Oh, and, uh, sorry for my Mediocre Poetry. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [boffinsandbeasties](https://boffinsandbeasties.tumblr.com). 
> 
> As always, p l e a s e comment, I love hearing from you guys!

“Excellent work, everyone,” declared Mr. Reyes, clasping his hands together. “Mr. Dillinger, if you could push deeper into the accent on your last few lines there, that would do nicely, but otherwise I believe we have the first act well in hand.” **  
**

This was met with whoops and scattered applause from the students onstage. Mr. Reyes was genuinely beaming, Brooke noticed, and for good reason. The fact that the school’s underfunded theatre program was managing a spring show at all was exciting, but the cast had really come a long way since the disaster that was  _A Midsummer Nightmare About Zombies_. And their numbers had grown, too – Jake, Jenna, Christine, Jeremy, and Brooke all had parts in the spring production of  _Inherit the Wind_ , while Michael and Rich had joined the tech crew. And, of course, Jake’s sheer popularity had drawn in handful of other students eager to give playcrafting a go. Brooke couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness every time she looked at their assembled numbers. After all, she’d been the one to suggest to Chloe that they try out for the fall show in the first place. Which had been, you know, an unrivaled disaster at the time, but hey! Things weren’t so bad, now.

Mr. Reyes was still speaking. “I’d like to work on Drummond’s examination of Colonel Brady, without the courtroom ensemble. So, Ms. Canigula, Mr. Barnet,” he gestured to Christine and the portly senior boy playing her opponent, “if you two would be so kind as to stay, the rest of you are dismissed. Please be prepared, next rehearsal,” he called over the bustle of students gathering their things, “to run through act two, scene one! Thank you!”

Brooke made her way off the stage and sank into an auditorium seat next to her backpack. She watched onstage as Mr. Reyes positioned Christine and the other boy, Tyler, as if they were wooden mannequins. Both looked surprisingly unfazed by this.

“Hey Brooke, you need a ride?” Michael called. He and Jeremy were making their way towards her. “We were gonna cram for that math test at my place, if you wanna come by.”

Brooke frowned, considering. She could probably use all the help she could get on that test, but she wanted to see her friend perform. Besides, she’d probably get more done studying on her own. “Nah, you guys go ahead,” Brooke decided. “I’m gonna hang back and catch a ride with Christine.”

“Suit yourself,” said Michael, shrugging.

“See you tomorrow, then, yeah?” said Jeremy. Brooke nodded, waving, and the boys continued out of the auditorium.

When Brooke looked to the stage again, Mr. Reyes was hopping down to take his seat in the front row. “Alright, Miss Canigula, you can take it from ‘Am I correct, sir…’” Christine took a breath in, ready to launch into her part, but Mr. Reyes interrupted. “Oh, and do try to get through the whole scene. Refer to your scripts, if you need to. I just want to see what you two make of this.”

Brooke fought the urge to laugh. Christine Canigula, refer to her script? Brooke knew better than anyone that Christine had memorized the whole part before she even auditioned. She’d been uncharacteristically nervous about going out for a male role. It was all she could talk about for the week leading up to auditions.

“It’s just never been done before,” Christine had explained, cross-legged on Brooke’s bed on a Friday after school. Christine had been over a few times in years past, mostly to work on group projects for the advanced English classes they were both in, but her visits had grown far more frequent after the squip incident had made them all unlikely friends. “Not at Middleborough, anyway. Or maybe ever. I mean, it’s not an easy role to make female, is it? It’s just not believable, that a woman would be taken seriously as a lawyer in the 20s. And I don’t exactly–”  

“Christine,” Brooke said gently. “The people who come see the play aren’t there for historical accuracy. They’re there to see a good performance. And I don’t think anybody at Middleborough could play a better Drummond than you.”

Christine smiled a little, eyes trained on her fingers as they tapped out an anxious rhythm against her thigh. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Brooke assured her. “But don’t tell Mr. Reyes I said so. I think he’d be jealous.”

Christine laughed. “You  _know_  he’d be jealous.” But her smile dropped quickly, her brow furrowing as she stared uncertainly at the play in her lap. “I just don’t know, though.”

Brooke got up from her desk and crossed the room to flop down on her bed next to Christine. “Hey. I know it’s out of your comfort zone,” she acknowledged. “But you always say there aren’t any strong roles for women in high school theater. And, I mean, you’re right. So…don’t you think it’s time you started making your own?” Christine stayed quiet, thinking. “Besides, it’s a clunky old play,” Brooke said distastefully. “A gender swapped role would make it, like, ten times more interesting.”

Christine let a long, slow breath out through her nose. “Okay,” she said, at length. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll do it.”

Brooke punched the air. “Yes!” she exclaimed, tackling her friend into a hug. “You’re gonna rock that audition, I just know it.”

Christine pulled back from the hug, grinning. “What about you? What are you going out for?”

Brooke shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably one of the townspeople just ‘amen-ing’ in the background.”

Christine looked personally affronted. “What? No, you should try for a lead! You’d make a  _great_  Rachel.”

“Ooooh, I don’t know if I–”

“And! And, if you were Rachel, we’d have some scenes together!” Christine was now practically vibrating with excitement.

Brooke held her breath. Oh, playing opposite Christine would be  _so_ awesome. “Alright, fine,” she relented. “I’ll try–”

But Christine was already celebrating. “You’re totally gonna get it, you were  _perfect_  in the last show. Until– well, you know,” she said sheepishly. “But Brooooke! We’re gonna rock their world with this one! The legal drama of the century, for a new century!” she pronounced, laying it on thick.

Brooke laughed, searching for something to add on. “We’re gonna…uh,” she hesitated. “Inherit the heck out of….those…Winds?” she tried.

Christine, bless her, rolled with it. “Heck yes,” she said, staring Brooke down with an intensity that she tried hard to match. “Consider yourselves inherited, winds.” For a second, she looked dead serious. Then one corner of Christine’s mouth ticked up. Then the other.

“Oh my god,” Brooke said, as Christine collapsed into a fit of giggles. Brooke fought down a wave of affection for the girl laughing into her bedspread. “You’re a dork.”

Christine rose up on an arm. “What, you don’t like it? I figured it could be the tagline for the programs–”

“Shut up,” Brooke said, but she was laughing, too. “We should use yours, that was way better.”

“Kinda boring, though,” Christine pointed out. She brightened. “You wanna run through some scenes between Drummond and Rachel? You know, for practice?”

Brooke nodded enthusiastically. “Y-yeah, okay!” She thumbed through her copy of the play, a little nervous. “Go easy on me, though. I’m not, uh, as good at this…as you.”

Christine scoffed. “You’re great!” she said genuinely. Brooke looked up in surprise. “Besides, I’m only this good because I’ve been at it for years. Do you wanna try this bit? At the end of act one?”

They had run through that bit, and some other bits, and pretty much the whole play, by the time Brooke had left that night. And now here they were, rehearsing their desired roles just a few weeks later. Brooke straightened in her seat as Christine began her examination.

“Am I correct, sir, in calling on you as an authority on the Bible?” Christine’s voice transformed instantly into something careful and folksy, biting annoyance hidden in every syllable. Brooke watched her, enraptured.

“I believe it is not boastful to say that I have studied the Bible as much as any layman.” The boy playing Brady looked very boastful indeed, sitting smugly at their makeshift witness stand, utterly unruffled. “And I have tried to live according to its precepts.”

“Bully for you,” Christine said lightly. “Now, I suppose you can quote me chapter and verse right straight through the King James Version, can’t you?”

“There are many portions of the Holy Bible that I have committed to memory,” the witness bragged, his eyes tracking Christine’s movements as she paced, slightly hunched, across the stage.

“I don’t supposed you’ve memorized many passages from the  _Origin of Species_?” Christine asked him, and Brooke grinned. She was totally nailing her character’s sense of humor.

“ _She likes you too, you know_ ,” whispered a voice right in Brooke’s ear, so suddenly she jumped.

 _“Chloe?_ ” Brooke hissed back. Her friend slid into a seat beside her. “What are you doing here? And what do you mean, she likes me _too_? I don’t– I mean, she wouldn’t–”

“Oh, c’mon, B, you’ve had a thing for her  _forever_. You dragged me to see her in  _both_  performances of  _A Streetcar Named Desire_  our freshman year.”

“Wh– that’s my favorite play,” Brooke lied.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” said Chloe. Brooke could almost hear her roll her eyes. “But now that we’re all buddies it’s become clear she’s got a thing for you, too. She talked my ear off about you in our lab the other day–”

“About  _me_? What’d she say?” Brooke said anxiously.

Chloe smirked. “Oh, nothing new,” she said casually. “She mentions you, like,  _all_  the time, B.”

Brooke sputtered. “We’re just– we’ve been hanging out more, that’s all. We have a lot in common.”

“Exactly!” Chloe exclaimed. Brooke shushed her. “She was gushing about some of the writing you did. Wanted to let me know if I’d read your column in the school newspaper, which, of course I did–”

“You did?” Brooke didn’t think anyone knew about that. Or cared, for that matter. “Wait,  _she_  did?”

“–and she always seems really happy around you, Brooke,” Chloe continued, ignoring the interruption.

Brooke glanced at the stage. Christine was responding with agitation to the lines Mr. Reyes was reading for the judge and district attorney. “We’re…just good friends,” Brooke whispered defeatedly. “That doesn’t mean she _likes_  me. Why would she, anyway, it’s not like I’m…” She shook her head.

Chloe frowned. “B, you’re a catch. The sweetest person I know, and the most insightful, and…” she looked up at the stage, avoiding Brooke’s eyes. Her face broke into a grin. “And she definitely likes you.”

Brooke sighed, getting tired of this game. “How do you  _know_ , though?”

Chloe kept on looking straight ahead. “Because she’s staring right at you.”

“Wh–” Brooke turned to look at the stage, and sure enough, Christine was indeed looking right back at her.

“Have you ever pondered just what would naturally happen to the earth if the sun stood still?” Christine said, half to her witness and half to Brooke.

Brooke felt as though the sun were standing still right then, beating down on her. Christine looked uncertain; a little off her game. Maybe she was curious as to why Chloe was there. Brooke tried for an encouraging smile.

Christine’s answering grin was subtle, but unmistakable. When she turned back toward the witness to deliver her next line, Brooke thought she saw a blush forming high on her cheeks.

“See what I mean?” asked Chloe smugly. Brooke opened her mouth to respond, but found no words forthcoming. She shut it again.

“So….” Chloe said slowly. “You like her. She likes you. The junior prom is coming up, and neither of you has a date yet.”

“Uh-huh,” Brooke said absently.

Chloe placed an elbow on the armrest between them, resting her chin on her hand. “…. _so?_ ” Chloe coaxed.

“So…..” Brooke sighed. “So I’ll think about it.”

“Attagirl,” said Chloe happily, slinging her bag bag onto her shoulder. “If you need any help with ideas–”

“I think I’ve got it,” Brooke said quickly. “Save that for the boys. God knows they’ll need it.”

“True,” Chloe agreed, rising from her seat. She turned to leave.

“Hey, Chloe?” Brooke whispered. Chloe turned. “Thanks,” Brooke said, smiling.

“You got it,” Chloe said, fingergunning her way out of the row. Amused, Brooke watched her leave, then turned back to watch Christine absolutely demolish the rest of the scene. She told her as much in the car on their drive home.

“You  _crushed_  it, Christine, seriously! I mean, I always thought the part with the sponge was sort of silly, but you made it seem like the most convincing argument in the world!”

Christine laughed. “I’m just glad I didn’t forget any of that big tirade he goes on about progress. Tyler did really well, too. I don’t think Mr. Reyes has ever had so few comments on a performance.”

“Uh, yeah, because you  _crushed it_ ,” Brooke repeated.

“I know!” Christine admitted, flushed with pride. If her feet weren’t busy operating the pedals, Brooke had a feeling she’d be kicking them out with excitement. “Well, hey, that’s thanks to you, mostly,” Christine told her.

“Me?” Brooke asked, surprised. “What did I do?”

“Dude, you practiced with me, like, a million times,” Christine replied. “Plus, Miss Literary Analysis, you get my character better than I ever could’ve. The way you talk about him makes sense to me – helps me get inside his head, you know?”

Thunderstruck, Brooke nodded. She’d never thought her weird opinions on the things they read could actually be helpful. She just liked talking to Christine about stuff like that, working big ideas out of little lines of dialogue. That’s why she liked plays so much, after all.

“Your Rachel is  _so_  good, too,” Christine continued, truly excited now. “People think she’s just dumb, but you play her so _conflicted_ , like, aaagh! I love it.”

Brooke was so busy being flattered by this that she barely noticed that Christine had pulled up to her house. She put the car in park and turned to look at Brooke. The setting sun cast a warm glow on her face, and Brooke felt her heart skip a beat.

“I know you’ve gotta study tonight, but do you wanna hang out after rehearsal tomorrow? Get smoothies, maybe run some lines?” Christine asked her.

“Sure,” Brooke said immediately.

Christine beamed at her. “Awesome,” she said. “Hey, thanks for waiting for me.”

“Thanks for the ride,” Brooke replied, clambering out of the car. She shut the door gently and fought the urge to skip up her front walk, turning instead to wave to Christine as she pulled away.

Brooke sat down on her front stoop for a moment after she’d gone, imagining kissing Christine goodbye instead of just waving.

Okay. Whether Chloe was right or not, maybe this was worth a shot.

* * *

Brooke waited a full week to make her move.

She knew right away what she wanted to do. The first thing she and Christine ever really bonded over had been their mutual love for Shakespeare. Brooke had come at it from the literary angle; Christine viewed him from the perspective of an actress. So what better format for her promposal than a Shakespearean sonnet?

But putting that plan into action proved…difficult. Sonnets weren’t Brooke’s favorite. The form was too restrictive, with too many syllables to fill and too many end rhymes to satisfy. And Brooke wanted it to be _just_  right. She scrapped her first few versions for sheer awkwardness. They sounded nothing like anyone would ever say. The next version got trashed for being  _too_  casual. She’d been shooting for something in between when a voice from right next to her startled her for the second time that week.

“Are these for Christine?” Jeremy asked, peering curiously at the discarded poems on her desk.

Brooke floundered, trying to conceal her work, keep it from slipping off the desk, and turn to face Jeremy all at the same time. “They’re, uh– ”

But she had only managed two of her three tasks. Jeremy’s eyes scanned through to the final rhyming couplet before he could stop himself. “Oh, sorry, I’m– I wasn’t– you…probably didn’t want me to read those,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah,” said Brooke, burying her face in her arms where they were crossed over her work. “S’ok, though.”

Jeremy coughed. Shifted from foot to foot. “It was really good, though,” he said encouragingly. “What I read.”

“That version was trash,” Brooke told him, voice muffled by her sweater. She plucked a paper from beneath her arms and thrust it at Jeremy. “This one’s less trash.” Her stomach was churning oddly at the thought off letting him read it, but she sort of wanted an outside opinion. “Still kinda trash, though. It’s not even a real sonnet, I mean, it’s got a verse too many but I–”

“Brooke,” Jeremy said softly. “Brooke, this is…” he sounded awed. “This is  _really_  sweet.”

“Thanks,” Brooke said, snatching the paper back from him. “Do you think she’d like it, though?”

Jeremy blinked in surprise, then nodded vigorously. “Of course. Oh my god, of course, she’ll  _love_ it. When are you going to give it to her?”

Brooke grinned wryly. “Not sure if I’m going to,” she admitted.

“You have to,” Jeremy said firmly. “You guys are great together, and she’ll  _adore_  this. And if she ever found out I read it and didn’t make you give it to her, I think she’d kill me, so.”

Brooke huffed out a laugh. “Are you sure it’s not just that second thing making you say that?”

“Positive,” Jeremy swore. “Seriously, Brooke, that poem’s awesome.”

“Okay,” said Brooke, steeling herself. “Okay. I’ll give it to her…ugh, what am I gonna do, hand it to her and walk away? Or stand there and wait for a response? Shit, I didn’t think this through–”

“Hey,” said Jeremy. “Hey, wait, I have an idea. You’ve got history with her fifth period, right?”

“Yeah,” said Brooke, not sure where this was going.

“Well, I’ve got Spanish with her fourth. And I happen to know–”

“–she uses the same binder for both,” finished Brooke, catching on. “The green one. Thank god for that girl’s impeccable organization. You can slip this into her history section?” She signed her name on the last version she’d written, then handed it to him just as the bell signaled the start of class.

Jeremy took his seat behind her. “I think so,” he said. “I’ll text you if it doesn’t work. But it’ll work.”

“Oooh, thanks, Jeremy!” Brooke said quietly, watching as their homeroom teacher passed out a worksheet. “Wish me luck.”

“Don’t think you’ll need it,” Jeremy said, slipping the poem into his backpack.

She hoped he was right.

* * *

Brooke checked her phone a dozen times during her fourth period lecture, but Jeremy didn’t text her. It wasn’t until she sat down in their history class that her phone buzzed with a message from him: “operation promposal was a success. had jake create a distraction while I slipped ur note in. u got this!!!” This was followed by about a hundred thumbs-up emojis. Brooke slid the phone back into her pocket just as Christine entered the room.

Oh god. Should she look over there? Did they normally say hi to one another before class? Brooke risked a glance across the classroom, and Christine smiled sunnily back at her before sliding into her seat and pulling out her binder. Brooke felt her heart speed up in her chest.

She watched as Christine opened her notes to the next blank page; watched as a sheet folded into fourths was shaken loose from between two pages and fluttered towards the ground. Christine reached out and snagged it just before it hit the floor. Wow. Smooth. She unfolded it curiously, and Brooke feigned a sudden and intense interest in her fingernails.

Their teacher pulled up a slideshow and started reviewing, for what seemed like the tenth time, the causes of the first world war. Brooke stared straight ahead, watching anxiously out of the corner of her eyes as Christine read her note. The poem began without preamble, and went something like:

Uh, hey! This may seem totes out-of-the-blue

or dorky, or cliche, or something worse,

but there are things I’d like to say to you;

I thought I’d do it in the bard’s neat verse.

As Blanche or Hermia or Juliet,

you capture crowds and light up every scene.

I love to watch you. But please don’t forget:

your best role is – shall always be – “Christine,”

whose passion for her craft’s unparalleled;

whose spontaneity is without end;

whose empathy for all is unexcelled;

who’s shown me what it is to be a friend

and left me craving more, to tell the truth.

The time we spend together’s always great,

but (though I’ll probs be awkward and uncouth),

I’d really like to take you on a date.

Long story short, I just wanted to see

if you would maybe come to prom with me?

xoxo, Brooke

Brooke waited as Christine read it. And read it. And read it.

Shit. Why was it taking this long? Did it normally take people this long to read things?

After what felt like an eternity, Christine slowly raised her head to stare across the room at Brooke. Feeling her eyes on her, Brooke turned nervously to meet her gaze. She tried, and failed, to school her expression into anything other than abject terror.

Christine must have found something in her face that she’d been searching for, though, because she suddenly broke into a broad grin. Her hand shot into the air, and their teacher looked to her expectantly. “I forgot the homework in my locker,” she told him. “Could I run and get it?”

“Of course,” he replied, and returned to his lecture. Christine disappeared with a pointed look over her shoulder at Brooke.

Okay. Well, that was as clear a sign as any that she was meant to follow. Brooke forced herself to wait for Mr. Avery to finish his next slide before asking for the bathroom pass. When she burst out into the hallway, Christine was leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

Brooke had just enough time to register the look of delight on Christine’s face before the girl had flung her arms around her.

“Yes,” Christine said into her shoulder.

Brooke’s brain wasn’t working. “Y….yes?”

Christine pulled back so she could see her face. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you!” she explained, blushing.

Brooke blinked. “O-oh!” That had been the point, hadn’t it? “Uh, that’s. Yeah!”

Christine laughed. “Yeah!” she repeated, pulling Brooke into another bear hug. This time, Brooke hugged back, ecstatic.  

Christine stepped back again, fingers trailing down Brooke’s arms until they were holding hands. She stared down at them, swinging their arms gently back and forth. “I can’t believe you wrote that for me,” she said softly. She glanced up at Brooke’s face, eyes shining with something Brooke had never seen before. “That’s the nicest stuff anyone’s ever said about me.”

“I meant it,” Brooke said automatically, not breaking eye contact. “All of it. I…really like you.”

Christine gave her a small smile. “Thank you. I really like you too, Brooke,” she confessed.

Brooke felt as though she might stop breathing. “Th-thanks,” she managed, eyes darting shyly to one side. She didn’t see it coming when Christine slipped her hands out of Brooke’s own and pushed her gently back into the wall by the shoulders.

She did see it coming when Christine stood on tip-toe to kiss her, soft and sweet. She was more than happy to let that happen. Christine pulled back after a second, searching her eyes for any signs of distress. Brooke showed none. Just smiled.

One kiss turned into two turned into four, until the echoing footsteps of someone rounding the corner had them breaking apart to turn, stricken, towards the source of the noise.

Only to watch in silence as Rich Goranski threw them a wink and double finger guns before disappearing into a classroom on the left.

Both girls burst into surprised laughter once he’d gone.

Christine turned back toward Brooke. “I’m getting that poem framed, you know,” she said suddenly. “I can’t believe you used “probs” and “uncouth” in the same line.”

“Shut up,” said Brooke, smiling with exasperation and letting her head tilt back against the wall.

Christine sniggered. “I’m just saying,” she continued, “it’s a real mixed bag–”

Brooke leaned down and kissed her again. For once, she was totally confident in her choice of words.


End file.
